Thursday, March 4, 2010

If I ever get married and my husband suggests that I quit my job and look after the house, I would probably file for divorce on the spot, citing irreconcilable differences. I don't care if he's a billionaire. There's no fucking way I'm going to be a homemaker. Perhaps it was growing up as a millionaire's kid - my mother's dating advice of only dating rich older men, and echoes from my school mates wanting to be trophy wives certainly rang a discordant bell with me.

Here's a few other things about that I think no self-respecting grown woman should do or expect:

The whole damsel-in-distress bullshit. Get a grip of yourself and do it yourself. When the going gets tough, take off your heels and put your game face on. The few times in my life when I have let a man help me has ended up in me being seriously disappointed and having to call the cops.

Expecting men to offer you lifts home or taxi money. I encounter more often than you would expect. Sweetheart, if you haven't driven there, organised a lift beforehand or researched your public transport, then you better have cab money. And if you don't, then DON'T FUCKING GO OUT. Many a time I've had to give my female friends my hard earned money because they've started crying about not getting back home or being raped in an alleyway. And they're usually too drunk to remember to pay me back.

Changing your surname. This may sound really stuck up, but I kind of like the name I was given at birth (despite the constant, at-least-once-a-week page jokes). I would only change my surname if I really actually liked the guy's moniker. And you should to.

Getting a man to hold your bag. The only exception is if the bag in question is perhaps a 10kg sack of potatoes and they're a body builder and you're a teeny girl. (Although my ex was a body builder and he made me carry all our groceries home for the 2km walk because he didn't want to make his muscles build in the wrong way. Wuss.)

Needing a male escort to make you feel safe. I used to live in some of the most dangerous neighbours in Victoria. I slept with a hammer and a foot-long knife next to my bed. I may carry a concealed weapon (but if I ever get charged with mauling an assaultant, um no, I honestly did find that knife in the alleyway) when I go out at night. If I'm in a cab and the driver looks dodgy, I'll call my mum to tell her I'm coming home and the cab number (doesn't really matter that she lives two states away). While it's no sure-fire way to avoid getting raped/mugged/murdered, I'm sure it would make me a much smaller target than a drunk, scantily clad girl wearing high heels screaming at someone on the other end of the line to come and bring her home.

People will hold your hand in life. Yes, you have a vagina. But yes, you also hopefully have a brain. So stop getting your mother to do your tax returns, or your older brother to get you a job, or your boyfriend to write your resume, or best friend will tell you that you look great in a pair of $400 heels, or your dad will fix your fridge, or... the list goes on.

PS I don't know if it is obvious enough, but my favorite character on The Simpsonsis Lisa.